


A Promise

by TheGovernmentsGoldfish



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Greg is there to help, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, M/M, Memory Loss, Mycroft is scared, One Shot, so is greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18400961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGovernmentsGoldfish/pseuds/TheGovernmentsGoldfish
Summary: Mycroft has a rare form of dementia, causing memory loss from a young age. Greg is always there to care for him.





	A Promise

The day always began and ended the same; a promise made, and a promise broken. However, this wasn’t a simple promise, it was a near impossible one. No matter how impossible it seemed, this promise always sparked hope within the deepest doubts. Every night, a promise was made not to forget, and every morning, even the words spoken about the heartfelt promise were lost.

This went for years. Dating, marriage, confusions, reminders, kisses, fights, regrets. One by one, each was forgotten. It’s not as bad as it seems, forgetting each memory. It can hurt, like a pair of strong, unforgiving hands ripping apart your heart with each “who are you?”, But it can also be good. It can bring a new sense of wonder with every new day, and first love with every meeting. You can go to places you have been before, and feel the same amazing feelings that were felt the first time. 

This is what the love of my life, Mycroft, deals with.

He has a rare form of dementia, one that affected him from a younger age, but half the time, I’m not sure he knows. Sometimes I envy him, simply in the sense that if he has a bad day, he can just.. forget. For a while, I didn’t know what this had entailed. He warned me when we began dating, when he still seemed to know most of what was happening, that it would end up like this; that if we stayed together for years to come, things would slowly fade to nonexistence. I always saw the brightness, the way out. I never really took his words to heart. It’s hard to imagine that every morning, your partner of years wouldn’t even know who you are, especially when you’re young and in love. You simply think that there is a chance of that being true, but it sits at the back of your mind and rots until it is forgotten, covered in dust and cobwebs. You forget the warning, not believing that something so horrible could happen to a feeling so beautiful. Though, destruction and beauty, no matter how cruel it can seem, always to find a way to coexist.  

In the end, he was right. The oh so perfect and fearless love soon turned into fear and questions, and in the end, it was a small reminder of the once forgotten warning. How could everything suddenly go from incredible nights of love and passion to nights of sitting awake with worry, unsure of what the future held? What if things never got better, and he never remembered? If there was never a cure?  All we could do was watch as we drifted apart, him not even knowing what he was missing. And those... those are the days I envied him. I wish I could forget all the bad of what happened to us, and just exist like everything was perfect. He never knew any of the pain leftover from his diagnosis, and I wanted that. No matter horrible of the thought.

Though, over the years, those thoughts joined his warning in the back of my dust filled brain. His forgetfulness never seemed to matter nearly as much as it had in the beginning. And every single day, despite his memory not improving, I did. We built up what we had when we were young, and I made sure to fill him in on what he had missed the prior day every morning. Some days, it took longer than others, yet.. it no longer seemed so bad. Soon enough, he began with his signature night promises, which I grew to love. It was something, at least. One constant in our chaotic lives. One thing I knew he would never forget.

 

***

At the noise of his love shuffling around upstairs, Greg was pulled from his thoughts of the breakfast before him. He took in a deep breath, preparing for his daily speech. He would recite everything the other needed to hear over breakfast, the main details of their love, as he needed to rush to work early today. He could tell the rest later when he had pictures and logs of their memories. 

When he turned, however, he immediately knew something was off. It had never been like this before... It was always confusion, not much more. Maybe a bit of anger at the world when the past was explained, but he had never seen Myc like this; a picture pressed to his trembling form, tears streaming down his pale, freckled cheeks. A look of worry immediately fell over Greg’s face, though he quickly suppressed it as he stepped forward, not wanting to aggravate the situation. Though, he knew he could never truly hide anything from Mycroft, and despite his attempts to, his fear was still evident in his deep brown eyes. 

Before Greg could get out a single word, Mycroft flinched back, holding out the picture. Greg remembered that day clearly like it was yesterday. It was a sunny day, the smell of salt lingering in the air and gently stinging his chapped lips. There was a slight breeze and a few clouds, and the closer to the water they got, the chillier it became. So, of course, Myc was freezing; he always was, but he never really minded, as he was always in a suit. For their trip to the beach, however, Greg had insisted on something more casual.

This request, however, resulted in Mycroft deciding that he needed to steal Greg’s oversized hoodie instead. Greg wasn't chubby, but he was built like a linebacker compared to Myc’s small frame. The picture was silly, Mycroft’s icy grey eyes lit up with playfulness and mischievousness, while Greg playfully pouted in the background. It captured the mood of their trip, right before the proposal. It was before their troubles. Greg was a few steps behind Mycroft in the picture, which played an important part. The second picture was supposed to be Greg holding Mycroft In his arms, kissing him with the stunning view behind them. That never came, though, as when Mycroft turned, he saw the love of his life kneeling on the ground, ring in hand.

   ***

“Who are you to me, and why can’t I remember?” 

Those trembling words pulled Greg out of his thoughts. He wanted nothing more than to take away his partner’s pain that was evidently laced through his voice. Even though he knew Mycroft would only forget this moment tomorrow, he couldn't bear the pain he was in now. This was one of the times that Greg hated the world for doing this to them, for putting the kindest person he had ever met through so much.

After a moment, after making sure his panicked partner had calmed a bit, Greg gently stepped up, careful to not spook him as he took the picture out of his hand. He placed it gently down on the oak table that he had built, offering the memory one last smile, before turning back. Holding up his hand to show the simple white gold band on his finger, he began to explain.

 

***

   As they talked, Myc’s fingers gently moved to fidget with his own matching platinum ring, one that Greg had picked out especially for him. His own was a simple, white gold ring that had a backing of a rose gold color. Simple yet nice, exactly how he thought of himself without being egotistical. For Mycroft, however, it needed to be perfect, special. He hardly thought that there could be a ring that could show everything that embodied his lover. Stunning, kind, loving, brilliant. Eventually, he found one. It was made of platinum, which was supposedly meant to last forever; he hoped that could symbolize their love. Then there were two small streaks of rose gold to match his own ring, with three small diamonds in the center to show the other’s beauty. He had explained this a long time ago, but he doubted that Mycroft could remember. Then, there came the engraving, meant to show the other’s promise he had made. It was a simple engraving. It read clear and bright around the band, even through the years of wear. 

_Love cannot be forgotten._

Ironic, isn’t it? 

Looking over the engraving truly made Mycroft feel worse as if he was breaking a trust never meant to be broken; Like their love was something so fragile, and that this engraving was a reminder of how he had shattered it without care. How had he forgotten so easily?

Mycroft felt like he was going to break again at the thought, letting one hand fall naturally into his red, wavy hair. It was a nervous habit that he had picked up on years ago and had never gotten rid of, even through the memory lapses. 

Greg, of course, noticed this immediately. After so many years of living with his love, he knew his little quirks. He gently moved to do what he knew would be best for the other, sitting him down gently, and setting down the breakfast he had made earlier. He grabbed a few more things, then sat across from him.

The posh man’s free hand gently wrapped around the warm tea that had been placed in front of him, trying to get some distraction from everything that had been happening. Greg had seemed to know just what to do. He had made him a sweet-ish tea and placed what could be assumed to be his favorite blanket around his shoulders. It was soft, fluffy, and white, and most definitely something he could hide away in when the world became too much. 

He listened to the others explanation like his life depended on it, waiting anxiously during every breath, and clinging desperately to every sound. He tried to pass this off as simply needing to know what he had forgotten, yet more than anything, it seemed like he wished to hear the Greg speak. His voice was so comforting and soft, almost more so than the blanket. It was easy to see how he could get lost in his speech. 

If only it were a happier conversation. 

Though, maybe one good thing came out of realizing his attachment to the way the other talked and moved. Maybe somewhere in his messed up, God-forsaken brain, there was a memory of love. One that could show itself in another way.

And in that realization, Mycroft made himself a promise; one he would never forget.


End file.
